My Best Friend
by Rainey
Summary: A.J. is troubled by the death of his college friend. Post-ep to


  
My Best Friend  
by Loraine  
  
6/8/00  
  
I was inspired to write this after watching the episode "The Richer They Are..." I just love those scenes of brotherly interaction. (Takes place after the case is solved.)  
  
Disclaimer: This story is purely for the entertainment of S&S fans. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
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In the quiet moonlight, A.J. Simon sat slumped over the picnic table out on the patio, his blonde head resting on his arm. Dejected and depressed, he'd certainly had better days, and a hell of a lot better nights. He wasn't even sure what it was that he was drinking anymore; he only knew that the bottle on the table was nearly empty.   
  
Damn liquor! He cursed to himself. It didn't matter if it was Bourbon, Scotch, or battery acid, the stuff did nothing to ease his pain. All it did was make his head fuzzy and burn a hole in his stomach. What the hell good was it, anyway? He wondered vaguely if his brother found any comfort in it, because he sure wasn't finding any. Then again, Rick could hold his liquor better than a damn camel could hold water. Yep, his big brother could drink him under the table. Always could. But did it make him feel better...? Probably not.   
  
Tommy's dead, A.J. thought again, his mind spinning in circles. My best friend is dead. Betrayed not only by his wife, but by his own brother. A.J. was so confused, he couldn't decide which was worse. In the end, though, he figured it was probably worse when your own brother stuck the knife in your back. A guy could find another wife, right? But not another brother. Nope, you couldn't just go out and get one of those. And even if you could,it wouldn't do Tommy any good. Tommy couldn't do anything anymore, 'cause he was dead.   
  
Sometimes life could really stink, A.J. thought disgustedly. Just when you think you've got it all figured out, they pull the rug out from under you. And just who were "they" anyway? He didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore, except that he felt lousy, really lousy. And nothing seemed to help. He let out a loud burp, appropriately summing up all his anger and disillusionment.  
  
"You tryin' to wake the dead, A.J.?"   
  
Woozy, A.J. pushed himself upright to see Rick standing there with his hands on his hips and a concerned frown on his face.  
  
Where the hell did he come from? A.J. blinked. "Din m-mom ever tell you iss not nice t's-sneak up on people?" he slurred up at his brother.   
  
"Mind if I sit?" Rick said, slowly seating himself on the bench beside A.J.  
  
Go right ahead." A.J. jerked his head and everything started to spin. "Whoa," he snorted, and gripped the sides of the patio table for support. "That firs' drop is always a k-killer."  
  
"Oh, I dunno know about that, A.J." Rick sighed. Picking up the near-empty bottle, he gave it a little jiggle, then put it aside. "Judging from the look of things, I'd say it was more like the last."  
  
"Oh...there's no more?" A.J. hiccoughed. "Oops. I guess I drunk it all, huh?"  
  
"Oh, you "drunk" it all all right." Rick shook his head. "And then some." He gave his brother a serious look. "Okay, spill it. What's eatin' you, kid?"  
  
"Oh, iss nothin'" A.J. mumbled. Propping his chin in his hand, he fixed his brother a distressed stare. "Why did Tommy hafta die, Rick?," he moaned, completely changing gears. "It wasn't fair, y'know. Murdered by his beautiful wife, and his own brother--" He shook his head. "Who wouldda thunk it?"  
  
Thunk it? Rick winced. Wow, this was worst than he thought. Not only was his little brother a dishevelled mess with his shirt hanging out of his jeans, but now he was using incorrect grammar!  
  
"I know it hurts, A.J." Rick said, giving him a sympathetic pat on the arm. "It just takes some time. I've lost friends too--"  
  
"Oh...here it comes," A.J. cut him off with a groan. "The war stories. Sorry I ain't got any." He shrugged a shoulder. "I know, the little blonde boy...the "golden child" --he sneered self-deprecatingly-- "what does he know about pain...huh?"  
  
"Oh, come on, A.J.," Rick chided. "That's not what I meant and you know it. And I never said I cornered the market when it comes to grief."  
  
"I'm sorry, Rick," A.J. sighed apologetically. "Is jus' that Tommy was my best--"  
  
Rick put up a hand. "I know..." he sighed, trying to hide his sudden irritation. "He was your best friend."   
  
Rick frowned, hating himself for sounding so smug, and for being so damn envious and hurt every time A.J. referred to Tommy as his "best friend." It wasn't the kid's fault his big brother had to leave him at a time when he needed him the most. Not having a father to turn to, A.J. needed some source of male support and friendship to fill in the gap, and he'd found it in Tommy. Still, it hurt, because out of all the people he knew and loved--even Ray Maynard--who'd saved his life, as far as Rick was concerned, there was only one person in the whole world he would ever call his "best friend." And at the moment, that person happened to be drunk as all hell.  
  
"Hey, Rick," A.J.'s voice interrupted his brother's thoughts.   
"Y'know sumthin'?" He leaned over to Rick with a queasy expression on his face. "I don' feel so good."  
  
"Somehow that doesn't surprise me, A.J." Rick remarked, wrinkling his nose. God, he smelled like a brewery; his breath alone was enough to peel the paint off the power wagon.   
  
"Whadaya say we take this little party inside, huh?" Rick prompted. "Come on." Without further ado, he stood up and grabbed A.J.'s arm, about to help him to his feet.  
  
A.J. jerked out of his grasp and flashed his brother an insulted look. "I'm perficly...cap'ble of doin' this m'self...if you don' mind."   
  
"By all means," Rick agreed, sweeping his hand toward the patio doors.   
  
Rising shakily to his feet, A.J. allowed his brother to rest a guiding hand on his back as he staggered forward, Rick quickly sliding open the patio door before his plastered younger brother plowed blindly through the glass. Gently steering A.J. into the living room, the two came to a halt beside the couch and stood facing each other.  
  
"Y'wanna know sumthin'?" A.J. blurted. He was swaying dizzily and Rick could see his brother was going down fast. "My bes' frien' ain't dead." Lurching forward, he tapped his palm against his brother's chest. "He's right here. I love you, Rick," A.J. whispered. His eyes closing, he slowly fell forward.  
  
Bending quickly, Rick caught his inebriated younger brother as he collapsed and slung him over his shoulder. Straightening up, Rick hitched A.J. up a little higher, and headed over to the stairs. He'd better crash on the couch tonight, he thought, as he trudged up to the bedroom with his passed-out sibling firmly in his grasp. Come the morning, the poor kid was gonna feel like he'd been hit by a train.   
  
Rick gently laid A.J. down on the bed. Bending down, he removed his brother's sneakers and tossed them into the corner. And for a moment, he just stood looking down at him, smiling softly. "A.J., he sighed quietly, "don't you know I'll always be your best friend? I love you, too, kid. Sleep tight, little brother."  
  
At that, Rick slowly turned and left, realizing how very fortunate he was. Poor Tommy, he thought. He would never know what he was missing.   
  
  
End.  
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To all my friends at PrivateEyes - You guys are the best! 


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